


Northern Blood

by ladyoldstones



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, First fic in 8 years wish me luck, Immediately post BotB, Jon gets permission to release the beast but he’s such a sweetheart, One Shot, Oral Sex, Past Rape Mention, Sansa gets pinned against a wall and loves it, Sansa is made stronger by the hell she’s been through, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoldstones/pseuds/ladyoldstones
Summary: “I’ve been sold as sheep and raped as though I were less than that, and yet I am hungry for your touch. Only yours, Jon. But you have to make this decision for yourself.“





	Northern Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fic in about eight years! I’ve never written smut before, and I’ve only recently seen the light of Jonsa, so please do let me know what you think.  
> 

The courtyard smelled of blood and sweat and terror as the sound of fist cracking upon skull ricocheted off the stone walls.

Sansa watched from the archway as Jon, _her Jon thank the Old Gods and the New_ , straddled Ramsay in the mud, dragging a trail of blood and spit from face to fist with every strike.

_Jon, Jon, her Jon had survived and together they had taken back their home._

Another crack, then another, and another, and finally Jon saw her, fist pulled back, before much of his remaining strength left him and he fell to the side while Ramsay gurgled in his own filth. His battle frenzy, however, was still raging as his comrades offered Jon a hand, and Sansa came to meet him, refusing to give Ramsay the satisfaction of so much as a look.

“You’ve done it.” She placed a hand on Jon’s arm to steady them both.

  
He looked at her, alive and thrumming. “We’ve done it,” he said, taking her hand. He turned and looked at his brothers: wildlings, northerners, and crows alike. “Let us find our banners. Cast aside those of this monster, and hang those of House Stark. The wolves have returned, and the north remembers.”

  
The crowd cheered, weapons glinting in the snow laden sunlight while Jon turned and followed Sansa into the keep.

  
Few torches were lit among the halls, and Sansa took note that she would be sure to light the others later, but first she had to tend to Jon. The infirmary would be crowded with dying men, and she would assist there later, but she knew it was best to simply be out of the way of those truly skilled in the arts of healing while she helped to clean and calm the man she led by the hand.

  
At the end of the twisting corridors before her lay what she sought: mother and father’s room. She opened the door and ordered Jon to sit on the bed. It curved beneath him as he hunched over, finally giving in to the vulnerability he felt behind closed doors when he was only with her.

  
_We did it. Gods, we did it. But-_

  
“Rickon,” he said, voice cracking. He looked to Sansa where she placed water over the fire to boil and added more wood from the pile before coming to kneel before him, stroking his hair.

  
“Rickon,” he said again, like a prayer, before the tears began to seep from his eyes. She held him as he cried, joining him in their moment together behind the closed door. Covered in filth as he was, she couldn’t care, would never care, so long as he was safe. He was her Jon. Alive. They had lost their brother, lost everyone, but they were alive.

  
They rocked together slowly as they calmed themselves and each found comfort in the other. The past few weeks had brought them closer than they’d ever been, finding in each other a sense of morality and a belief in the goodness of people, despite what they’d been through. Finding in each other a family they thought they’d lost forever. When they stilled, Sansa placed her lips to his hair and stood to retrieve the water and a rag to tend to his flesh wounds as she had tended to those of his battle weary heart.

  
She helped him to remove his armor, laying them beside him on the bed, and retrieved a stool to sit before him on. Gently, she took a wet rag to his arms, his chest, his torso, his face. Soft as smoke, washing away the battle for their home: a battle he thought they’d lost.

  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked at her as she took a moment to speak.

“We had to win. Ramsay is smart. He would not have come to battle if he thought he’d lose, and if he knew of the Knights of the Vale, whether through spies or some other means, we’d have lost. I was trying to protect us.”

  
He nodded slowly. “Aye, you certainly surprised him. But, Sansa,” he said, removing her hand from his chest where she washed him, “we can’t keep secrets from one another.”

  
She looked down, knowing the fear she caused him, knowing her own shame at having played into Littlefinger’s hands for the time being before she could spin her own web around him, just as he had taught her. She remembered the panic she’d suffered when she felt Littlefinger wouldn’t have sent the knights to her aid.

  
“Sansa, we must trust each other. We are all we have left. We are family. This is our home.” He reached up to stroke her face, and she leaned into it, breathing in the scent of him. The weeks since their reunion had been strange. They’d been raised together as siblings, and despite their general dislike for each other at those ages, each were grown now, perhaps too soon, and the love between siblings was not what they felt now. Their familial love was the chain that bound them together and kept them connected, but now each saw themselves in the other. And each saw the world in a new light after the seven hells they’d been through.

  
The lingering touches of Sansa’s fingers while accompanied by the firelight were enough to begin to ignite Jon’s battle frenzy once more. He tried to ignore it. Gods he’d been trying to ignore it. He knew he cared for her, and he knew he felt differently than perhaps he should. But to act on any such desires had seemed forbidden to him.

  
Sansa, however, began to lose all care for propriety when they were alone. The horrors she’d suffered at the hands of other men did not push her into a shell, but rather taught her to take charge and demand what she wanted and steadfastly refuse what she did not so she may protect herself. She had spent so much of her life at the mercy of others, in the hands of those ready to sell her off, but she would be a lamb no longer.

  
“Jon,” she breathed, flushed by firelight and a growing, desperate _heat_. His own eyes shone black where they were normally grey, daring to show the starving beast within him he still kept in a cage.

  
“I… I don’t know. Sansa, I don’t know. It seems so wrong, but… it seems so _right_.” A calloused, still dirty hand reached for her face, and stopped.

  
Sansa watched the movement, again welcoming the touch of him, her half brother. “I do trust you. I need you to know that. And I don’t care anymore, Jon. I don’t care what they’d say, or if it means we’re damned. I don’t care. I’m ready, and Jon, I’m willing,” she said, voice straining as she stood, giving him the space to think. She knew her presence could overwhelm him, and she needed him to make this decision with a clear head.

  
“Jon, I love you. You’re my brother, I know, but we are of the old blood, of the north. And we must stay together. I’ll be by your side, no matter what, but _Gods-_ ” she said, frantic now, “I’ve been sold as sheep and raped as though I were less than that, and yet I am hungry for your touch. Only yours, Jon. But you have to make this decision for yourself. Whatever your decision, I’ll stand by it. And if it changes in hours or days, weeks or years, I’ll stand by it. You will not lose me.”

  
Jon gaped at her. Her words rang true, both for himself, and as words she herself needed to hear. She was his sister, his living, breathing, _beautiful_ sister. But Gods, no.

  
_But Gods yes…_

  
He stood, approaching where she waited by the fire. “Sansa,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I love you. I know that you know that. You’re my sister and I love you as such… but I love you more as well. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and I know we were only reunited recently. But we’ve both been to hell and back and survived. You are good, Sansa. You are so good. And gentle and kind and intelligent and-”

  
His words cut off with a start as her lips pressed to his. She was warm, burning against him, iced flesh become fire as she lay her hands on his chest to hold herself both from and against him. Something swelled in his ribs at the taste of her, the touch of her, the heat of her on his mouth, and he pulled away, huffing.

  
“Sansa, I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to hurt you.” His breath was coming in gulps now.

  
“You won’t. This is my choice as much as yours, and that is why it matters. We choose this. We choose us.”

  
Her eyes met his, sky on smoke, and they lost themselves.

  
Stark, Snow, it didn’t matter. Not anymore. He was hers and she was his, and he knew so long as she’d have him, he’d be there.

  
_The pack survives._

  
His blood began to howl, aching for her more than ever, knowing he could have her, and she could have him. He’d be careful with her, he knew, but that did not mean he’d have to be gentle.

  
She leaned in to kiss him again, and he let her. Their lips met, each battling for dominance, until his won, hot and heavy and forcing her back against the wall. She hit it with a thump and moaned. He laid his hands on her waist, gripping her there, while she pulled her head away and looked at him languidly.

  
“I give myself to you, Jon. I willingly give myself to do with as you please.”

  
He smiled and nipped at her lip before kissing her deeply as her sky colored eyes closed and her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Her nails dragged across his skin, causing him to hiss and she giggled.

  
“So _that’s_ how this is going to go. Very well, little wolf.” In one swift movement, he placed her legs around his waist and pinned both wrists above her head against the wall.

  
She gasped as he quickly buried his face against her neck, biting and sucking, covering her in the marks of the beast.

  
“Jon,” she sighed, and he knew he was encouraged. He slipped an arm behind her back, and moved them both to the bed behind him, where he laid her down gently, still in her gown of leather and fur. Her eyes were drooping, heavy with the lust and desire that had been growing between them since their reunion at Castle Black. She mewled at the sight of him standing over her as she lay in the nest of furs, aching and ready.

  
The sight of her before him further ignited the demons within, the ones he’d have never dared to release, except she asked him to with her words and begged him to with her eyes, blue as a summer sky.

  
_Gods, the sight of her. The feel of her. The taste of her._

  
When he got down on his knees, she whimpered with longing and surprise, unsure of what he was doing.

  
“Jon?”

  
“Sshhh. It’s alright, I’m here. If you don’t like it, you tell me to stop, alright? You tell me right away. But with your permission, I want to show you something.” He eyed her, stared up the length of her body, and she nodded.

  
Gently, he began to lift her skirts, trailing his nose along her thigh. The sensation caused her to whimper and her limbs to quiver. He enjoyed this, enjoyed the sight of her coming undone before him, and he savored it. Slowly, he began to inch her smallclothes down her legs, dragging them with trailing fingers that left gooseflesh in their wake. The scent of her was hot and heavy as he drew nearer to her center, while the sensation of him coming closer thrilled her beyond imagining.

  
“Jon,  _please_ ,” she said, breathless.

  
He chuckled at her words. “Calmly now, little wolf. I’ve hardly begun,” he growled.

  
Peppering kisses across the top of her thigh, he slowly traced a finger along her core, slick and ready for him. She bucked her hips at the touch, whimpers becoming moans.

  
He smiled, glad that, above all, she was enjoying herself. After what she’d been through, she deserved for a man to love her and to kneel for her.

  
He rubbed his nose along her folds, lightly, and she gasped.

  
“Sansa darling, you must keep slightly more still than that, or I will miss,” he said, laughing. She smiled and nodded.

“Here,” he said, reaching up to find her hand and encouraged her to thread her fingers in his hair. “Steady yourself here.”  
She tugged gently, and he felt his breeches tighten all the more.

  
“That’s it,” he moaned, reaching up to hold her other hand with his own. “Now, do enjoy yourself,” he said, flashing a wolfish grin.

  
He lowered his head, and set to pleasuring her.

  
Slowly he went, for a time. Her cries were soft, but her grip in his hair forced him to consider his future without it. Closer he pushed her, holding her on the edge, refusing to send her over.

  
“Jon, stop playing, I beg you,” she said, heaving.

  
“Stop playing, you say? Well, my little wolf. What is it that you want me to do, if this is playing?”

  
She huffed. “Please, Jon, don’t make me say it.”

  
By now, he felt compelled to play the game. “No, Sansa. This is your choice. What do you want me to do, hmm? I may have the power, my darling, but you have the control.”

  
She sighed, covering her eyes with her arm. “I want you to fuck me, Jon. Please.” She lifted her arm slightly to peer at him as he stood and crawled over her.

  
“Is that so? You want me to fuck you? Right here, right now?”

  
She nodded. “Oh Gods please Jon, now,” she whined, eyes flashing to prove that if he did not take charge in this matter, she would.

  
He smiled. “As you wish, my lady.”


End file.
